Our house has been in its present position, well, actually its ONLY position, for more than 150 years.
Collected droppings from passing packhorses lavished nourishment on the gardens for decades before the polluting cars arrived on the scene.
The house has appeared on many maps, which, over the years, have shown the explosion of new homes and take-aways, in the village though regretfully no greengrocers.
So it shouldn't have been too much of a challenge for the taxi driver to find us this morning and take us, Cliff Richard style, on a summer holiday (no more working for a week or two….)
When he hadn't appeared by ten after the appointed hour, we called to check.
'Ah, 'said the controller, of indeterminate girth. 'Isn't he there?'
That was kind of a superflous question. Why, ready packed and bouncing off the walls with excitement, would we want to mess with their minds when we could be waiting in queues at the airport?
No. He wasn't there. But he was somewhere. Somewhere he thought was there – somewhere his satnav had told him was there, so it must be true. We all know computers never lie.
Another driver was despatched. He joined the first driver who was there but not here.
Funnily enough, this has happened to us a couple of times now. The satnav insists it knows best and sends delivery drivers to a little dirt track about two miles away which has a similar name. We ge flustered calls.
'Where are you? You're not there!'
No, of course we're not there. We're here. It's our house, we know where we live.
The driver finally arrived, very apologetic. He and the other driver had had some kind of showdown over who should pick up our valuable custom. Seems he won. Maybe he'll buy a map book with his profits.
Turns out he needn't have worried about the delay. The flights was 90 minutes late. Enough time for a further two breakfasts. You can never have too many breakfasts.
Anyway, we're here now. This is the view from the hotel room. It's a tough life….
Today's lovely thing
Never getting tired of Chamonix